


Across the Universe

by Engineer104



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, M/M, Maybe a little OOC, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Thelma and Louise-type AU (sort of)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-15
Updated: 2014-09-15
Packaged: 2018-02-17 11:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2307356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engineer104/pseuds/Engineer104
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eren has always had a bit of a temper; so has Jean, but his doesn’t come out in quite the same way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across the Universe

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally supposed to be a Yumikuri AU, but I can't seem to write them.
> 
> Please excuse any OOC-ness and my inconsistent writing...

“I’m sorry,” Eren says, not for the first time.

Jean grips the steering wheel firmly and stiffly retorts, “No, you’re not.”

“Yes I—“

“Eren, would you just shut up?” Jean interrupts, glaring at him from his periphery.

Eren returns it, arms crossed and irritably huffing air through his nostrils.

They rumble down the interstate in silence for a while, nothing but the sound of rain pattering against the windshield, the tires streaking through puddles, and the inconvenient strains of smooth jazz, the only station the radio picked up, filling the tense atmosphere.

“I’m not sorry about _that_ ,” Eren says vehemently, his voice finally cutting through the stillness.

“Then what the fuck are you sorry about?” Jean presses.  He squints out the window, at the dark road, and passes another car driving too slow even for this downpour.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this.”

Jean glances at him in surprise, tearing his gaze from the road long enough to see Eren glowering out of his window, his reflection’s eyes flicking up to meet Jean’s.

He swallows, suddenly anxious, then shrugs.  “It’s not a big. . .” he trails off, because the words he was about to utter are far from the truth.

* * *

The first time Eren touched Jean was in a light slap of hands, a high-five, a gesture meant to diffuse the thundercloud of tension hanging over them before they could properly get into it, before that first touch could become a punch to the jaw and force Mikasa or Armin to intervene.

In retrospect, their almost-fight was stupid, because college students tend to have ideas too big for even their overinflated heads, and Eren had almost too much passion whereas Jean didn’t seem to have nearly enough.

Wiser men than them might’ve learned from just one encounter to avoid each other from then on, but they inevitably still sat at adjacent tables in the dining hall, close enough to easily eavesdrop on a conversation and interject when one of them disagreed (which was often).

And so the second touch became the unavoidable punch.

They were two ‘mature’ adults, but they both still ended up in health services within three weeks of the start of classes, Eren gingerly rubbing his busted lip while Jean held a napkin to his dripping, probably broken, nose.

“We can try a truce again,” Jean suggested from beside Eren, voice muffled from the napkin and distorted by the blood streaming out.

Eren scoffed, “It worked so well last time.”

“Yeah, well, we’re both pre-law, so we’ll be seeing each other more than we’d like anyway, right?”

Eren blinked in surprise and glanced at him from the corner of his eye to see Jean, seated two chairs away, looking in his direction as well.  “Let me guess,” he said slowly, “you want to be a _corporate_ lawyer, or something that makes a lot of money, right?”

Jean rolled his eyes at him but didn’t deny it.

Eren laughed, wincing when air rushed too quickly over his lip.  “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Well, why do _you_ want to be an environmental lawyer anyway?  No one gives enough of a shit.”

Eren scowled at him.  “So?  Just because _you_ don’t know anyone that gives a shit doesn’t mean there’s no one.”

“Oh, yeah, _you_ give a shit,” Jean amended sarcastically.  “That makes _one_.”

“Fine, you go help fossil fuels ruin the world for everyone else, and I’ll make sure they don’t.”

Jean snorted, the derisive sound immediately followed by a pained groan.  Eren, unable to help himself, snickered.

* * *

Jean pulls into a gas station once the rain lets up.  The car’s tank is only half-empty, but he’s always been paranoid of running dry, not to mention driving in the storm has made him feel lethargic.

“Go get something to eat,” he tells Eren after he’s stopped in front of a pump, “and get me some coffee.”

Eren glares at him, his previous apology evaporating with his resentment at receiving commands, but doesn’t argue.  He pushes the passenger door open, jumps out, and slams the door closed.

The car rocks with the motion, and Jean glances at Eren’s retreating figure, shakes his head to clear it when he catches sight of Eren patting his back pocket, probably to make sure his wallet is still in place.

He shoves down the wave of fondness that hits him and emerges from the car, a plan forming in his head. . .

By the time Eren returns, a plastic bag swinging from the crook of his elbow and a cup of coffee in each hand, he gapes at Jean.

“Where the fuck did you get that?” he demands, staring at the – decidedly different – car behind him.

Jean runs his fingers through his hair, embarrassed.  “I, uh, stole it,” he admits.

Eren narrows his eyes at him.  “You _fucking stole_ —“

“Just get in the fucking car, Eren,” Jean interrupts wearily.  He rounds it and hops into the driver’s seat, smiling slightly when Eren joins him.

“I can’t believe you stole a car,” Eren says once the cups are nestled in cup holders and the bag of convenience store fare is sitting between his ankles.  He sounds pissed, and that more than anything is what irks Jean.

“Get over it,” Jean growls, putting the car into gear and leaving the station.

“Jean, what was wrong with _your_ car?” Eren wonders.

Jean looks in his direction at a sudden crinkling only to see Eren attempting to crush a bag of Doritos in his hands.  He replies, “The police know what it looks like.”

Eren snorts.  “I can’t believe you stole a car,” he repeats, tone ripe with frustration.

Jean inhales bracingly and spits, “Eren, you fucking _killed_ someone; you don’t get to _scold_ me for _stealing a car._ ”

Eren sighs audibly, and another glance shows Jean that he has his head in his hands.  When his eyes are once more focused on the road, a fist connects with his shoulder and he shoots Eren a glare, which quickly transforms into wide-eyed shock at the dismal expression on his friend’s face.

Jean’s shoulder barely throbs from the impact of Eren’s curled hand, and that is almost as surprising as his unconcealed stress.  “The fuck is wrong with you?” he inquires, squeaking slightly as concern overrides irritation.

Eren doesn’t reply immediately, so Jean does the only thing he thinks is appropriate, even though they’re on the run, and pulls over to the side of the road.  He flicks on the car’s hazard lights and half-turns his torso to face Eren.

He watches as he clenches and unclenches his fists in his lap, a sign of anxiety that Jean knows all too well from seeing him study for finals late into the night.  Then he flicks his gaze back to Eren’s face, at his bottom lip pinched between his teeth and wrinkled forehead.

“This isn’t like you,” Jean points out quietly.  He has no idea what to do, how to comfort Eren, _why_ he even needs comforting aside from the obvious.  And it’s hardly inspired, but Jean still unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches out to place his hand on Eren’s shoulder.

Eren takes a deep, shuddering breath before turning his head to meet Jean’s gaze.  “I’m sorry.”

Jean, suddenly overcome by frustration, removes his hand and grumbles, “Not this again.”

“No, now it’s, well, you stole a car.  You committed a crime, and—“

“How can you be so fucking stupid?” Jean interrupts, resisting the urge to literally knock sense into Eren.  “I committed a fucking crime the minute I ran off with you.  Now I’m just racking up points.”

Eren grimaces a bit, then smiles wryly.  “Right, that makes sense,” he says.

“Yeah, it fucking makes sense.”  Jean sighs and prods Eren’s arm.  “Look, I don’t know why you came to _me_ for help, but—“  He breaks off, shrugging, not sure what he wants to say.  Is he glad?  Of course not, since he left his whole life behind, and any prospect of it ever being anything ‘normal’.  But he doesn’t regret it, not really.

Eren looks at him, face almost contemplative, before he bridges the gap between them and wraps his arms tightly around Jean, trapping his own at his sides.  Jean stiffens in astonishment, nose twitching where Eren’s hair tickles it, and disengages his arms to return the embrace.

* * *

Their truce was successful, for the most part.  Whenever Eren heard Jean’s too loud, too wrong opinions, he simply fired back his own too loud but very correct opinion without resorting to his fists.

It became a routine, so much so that they ended up getting into it during a lecture, resulting in a teacher assistant booting them out before the class was even half over, and continuing outside.

Their debate topics transformed though, moving from ‘important’ environmental discourse and public policy to the pressing subject of what they wanted in their stomachs and where they should study for finals.

And Eren couldn’t help but notice certain aspects of Jean when they argued; how his lips curled into a smirk when he thought he made his point, how his hazel eyes sparked almost menacingly whenever Eren was talking, how, as time wore on, he’d grab Eren’s wrist as if that would drive his point further home.

Eren would shake off his touch, but not the feeling it left behind, and give his own retort, not the least bit concerned with it.  He pretended not to pay attention to Jean’s eyes wandering down to his mouth every so often while he spoke.

* * *

“You hot-wired this car, didn’t you?” Eren wonders, breaking the awkward silence that had filled the car since they pulled back onto the interstate.

Jean grimaces, glancing at the dashboard and seeing the needle in the fuel gauge showing less than a quarter tank.  He nods.

“Well, fuck,” Eren mutters, audibly huffing.  “Where the fuck did you learn to do that?”

Jean stares straight ahead, on the lookout for a gas station and a fast food place.  “You sound almost impressed,” he observes.

“I’m just. . .” Eren trails off, shrugging.  “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Do you think we should’ve said something to Armin and Mikasa?” Jean inquires suddenly.  “And to our parents?”

“I doubt it would’ve made a difference,” Eren says, tilting his head back.  “They’ll have seen it on the news anyway.”

Jean nods, tapping his fingertips on the steering wheel.  “Yeah, pre-law student Jean Kirstein runs off with a murderer,” he comments wryly.  “What a headline.”

“Excuse me, it would be Eren Jaeger, murderer and pre-law student, runs off with an accomplice,” Eren retorts, almost humorously.

And because they’re two immature young adults, they burst into uproarious laughter.

Jean blinks at the road, past the stressed, amused tears streaming from his eyes.  “This fucking sucks,” he observes once he catches his breath.

“Yeah, it kind of does,” Eren agrees.

Jean can feel the other’s gaze on his face and swallows self-consciously.  “Uh, Eren?” he says.

“What?”

He knows what he wants to say, knows what he should, but the words that pour out of his mouth are only part of the truth:  “I, uh, Mikasa and I broke up a few days before we left.”

Eren doesn’t say anything immediately, and the silence in the car is stifling as Jean listens to the sound of his own labored breathing and his heart pounding in his ears.  He considers opening a window, hoping that the air rushing by them can fill the quiet.

Then Eren, tone unreadable, remarks, “Oh.”

Jean gnashes his teeth irritably.  “That’s all you can say?” he demands.  “You fucking punched me when you found out.”

Eren sighs, and Jean can picture him rolling his eyes when he says, “What do you _want_ me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Jean admits, still annoyed.  “Why _did_ you punch me?  I know she’s your sister, but I thought you liked me.”

He can hear Eren fidgeting in his seat, and when he chances a glance, he sees that he looks uncomfortable.  “Why did you split?” he wonders.

Jean shrugs, and now _he’s_ the uncomfortable one.  “I had some things to sort out,” he replies noncommittally.

“And did you?”

Jean can hear the genuine curiosity and concern in Eren’s voice, is almost taken aback by it, and that’s what spurs him to admit, “Yeah, I think I did.”

* * *

Eren couldn’t pinpoint an exact time or event of when his life started to fall apart.  All he knew was that all the pressure built, the stress, until he saw one more injustice and snapped.

His financial aid was cut before second semester of his second year, forcing him into taking a loan and getting a job as a waiter.  That, if nothing else, tested his patience when he dealt with rude customers.

Armin announced he planned on transferring to a different university, a place with a better marine biology program; Eren was happy for him, but at the same time, he felt the abject misery at the prospect of losing his best friend to distance.

He failed political science, even though he’d studied almost endlessly for the final, even though Jean stayed up late to tutor him for a class he’d already taken, several nights in a row.  And his prospects for law school began to look grim.

And maybe the icing on the cake was when Mikasa offhandedly mentioned that she was dating Jean, and the next time Eren saw him, he blessed him with a black eye.

(Eren never did learn how to deal with jealousy.)

So just a few weeks shy of finals once more, Eren found himself watching a man grab a woman, right off of the crowded street, and try to force her.  Everyone ignored her screams and pleas for help.

Eren’s blood curdled with disgust and anger at the sight, and as he let his stress and rage do the talking, he blacked out.

When he came back to himself, his knuckles were covered in blood, the adrenaline had drained from his system, leaving him trembling, and he stood in front of a familiar door.

He knocked, the impact barely irritating his bleeding hands.

Jean, still sporting a fading black eye, answered the door.  He leaned against the frame, arms crossed as he appraised him.  “Eren,” he said, glowering, “what—“  His hazel eyes swept down to Eren’s hands, and he stood properly, mouth hanging open.

“I need your help,” Eren blurted, watching the other’s face anxiously.

“What the fuck did you do?” Jean demanded, glancing between his bloody hands and his face.

He didn’t ask Eren if he was okay, which he was, strangely, grateful for, because the answer to that was a big, resounding _no_.

“I, uh,” Eren broke off.  He grabbed Jean’s wrist and pulled him into the hallway.  Taking the cue, Jean tugged his apartment door shut behind him and listened as Eren said, “I think I killed someone.”

If it was possible, Jean looked even _more_ shocked.  “You _think_?  How do you _think_?”

“I blacked out,” Eren told him truthfully.

Jean wrenched his arm from Eren’s grip (he’d forgotten he was holding it) and said, “So what do you want _me_ to do about it?  Whose blood is on your hands?”

“Mine and his probably.”  Eren examined his knuckles once more, feeling eerily calm as he did so.  “I need to wash them; I-I think I’m gonna make a run for it.”  A half-formed plan fell into place; he knew it would be easy for the police to learn who did it, never mind _why_.

“Eren, that’s fucking _insane_ ,” Jean said exasperatedly.

“Do you have any gauze?” Eren wondered, ignoring him.

Jean stared at his face, eyes wide with disbelief.  “You’re insane,” he repeated, sighing through his nose and opening his apartment door.  As he led Eren to a bathroom, he shot over his shoulder, “Where are you gonna go?”

Eren shrugged, watching as Jean pulled a tube of Neosporin and a roll of gauze out of a cabinet.

“Do you even have a car?”

Eren smiled wryly and shook his head.

Jean muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, _“Fucking bastard; why does he have to be suicidal.”_ He passed the medicine and gauze over to Eren.  “You need help?”

Eren shook his head, turning on the faucet and running his hands under the water.  He watched it drain pink, barely registering Jean’s retreating footsteps.

When he emerged from the bathroom, hands newly wrapped, he spotted Jean standing across from him with an overnight bag over his shoulder and a set of keys in his hand.  He held them out, offering them to Eren.

“Uh, here,” he said awkwardly when Eren simply stared.  “You can take my car, and I figured you’d need some clothes like as a disguise or something. . .”

Eren shook his head to clear it, then surged forward and pulled Jean into a hug, burying his nose into his shirt.

“And, uh, I won’t tell the police anything,” he continued as if Eren wasn’t embracing him, “so don’t tell me where you’re going.”

Eren knew it was selfish, _beyond_ selfish, probably the most selfish words to ever leave his mouth in his twenty years, but, voice muffled, he said, “Come with me.”

Jean stiffened in his arms, a dull _thud_ and the clatter of metal on tile indicating that he’d dropped the bag and his keys.  “I didn’t, uh, what?” he said incoherently, breath tickling Eren’s ear.

Eren loosened his grip and looked up at Jean’s face.  “You heard me,” he muttered.

Jean stared ahead, face pink as he shook his head.  “I can’t,” he said, sounding almost. . .regretful.

“You shouldn’t,” Eren retorted, unable to help his argumentative tone.

Jean finally returned the embrace, wrapping his own arms tightly around Eren’s shoulders.  “Why didn’t you go to Mikasa?” he asked, voice quiet.

“I told you, I blacked out,” Eren said.  He felt calmer, stronger, and he wondered if it had anything to do with the steady heartbeat adjacent to his own.

“And then you were here?”

“And then I was here.”

“That sounds like so much bullshit,” Jean grumbled, frustrated.

“Well, it’s not.”

“You’re a jerk,” Jean snapped into Eren’s hair, sounding almost affectionate.

“And you’re an asshole, but you don’t hear me complaining.”

They fell silent, just standing there holding each other, and Eren couldn’t help but wonder how things might’ve been different if he had controlled his temper and called the police.

“Okay,” Jean finally said, interrupting the silence.

“What?” Eren said, confused.  He reluctantly stepped away from him, to better see his face.

He wore a determined, if a little scared, expression:  lips twisted into a frown, brow furrowed, eyes hard.  “Okay, I’ll come,” he confirmed.

Eren gaped at Jean.  “Are you sure?”

“You’re the one who demanded it,” Jean said, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes.  “Why are you second-guessing me?”

Eren covered his face, hoping that Jean hadn’t caught his smile.

* * *

It takes a pitiful few days for them to hear sirens.

“This sucks,” Eren observes.

“That’s an understatement,” Jean retorts, scowling at the road in front of them.

“This fucking sucks,” Eren amends quickly.

Jean feels his lips turn up in an involuntary grin, and when he catches sight of the brown sign beside the highway, it widens.  It’s almost fitting, he thinks, that _this_ should be the end.

But according to the fuel gauge, they’re almost running on fumes.  “Think we can make it?” Jean asks Eren.

Eren, a little distantly, replies, “Well, I’ve always wanted to see the Grand Canyon.”

It occurs to Jean that there’s really no point to all of this, that there never was, that before Eren stopped a man from hurting someone by hurting _him_ , Jean’s own life had already lacked a purpose.  And maybe for him to throw his lot in with Eren wasn’t as unfathomable as he would’ve thought two years ago.

It’s a peculiar sense of déjà vu, having this _faith_ in Eren, and it’s something he can’t even begin to explain, this faith that he never really had in the direction his life was once headed.

And Jean doesn’t think about the future; he just drives, drives until the road ends and the gas tank is almost empty and they can see the gaping red chasm out of the windshield.

“Holy fuck,” Eren intones, awestruck.

“Yeah,” Jean agrees.  He thinks he can see a sliver of the Colorado River below, but it can just as easily be a trick of the light, or a trick of the slight delirium he feels.

The sirens and shouting behind them are barely an afterthought, as Jean and Eren simultaneously turn their heads towards each other, eyes meeting.

Eren raises his eyebrows, opens his mouth and immediately closes it again, as if he wanted to say something but decided against it.

Jean frowns, at a loss for words, until he hears the muffled shout of a cop coming from a megaphone:

“Get out of the car and put your hands up!”

“What do you think?” Jean wonders, glancing sideways at Eren.

“I. . .”  Eren swallows, Jean nervously eyeing the motion of his Adam’s apple.  “I can’t turn myself in.”

He doesn’t question him, won’t ask him to do something he doesn’t want to, but their options are limited.

“You can go,” Eren adds quietly, barely looking at Jean as the words leave his mouth.  “You’re just an accessory, you only stole a couple of cars, and you can blame that part on me, if you want.”  His voice is steady, and that in itself, when Jean thinks on Eren’s obsessive resolve, unnerves him more than his words.

Jean shakes his head, feeling tears prick at the corners of his eyes.  “No,” he protests without hesitation, refusing to acknowledge what’s coming next, but he knows, he just _knows_.

Eren finally faces Jean.  “I should just kick you out of the car,” he says, tone suddenly irritable.

“No, you fucking won’t,” Jean says, unbuckling and buckling his seatbelt to exhibit his own obstinacy.

Eren’s eyes track the motion, then flick back up to his face.  “Jean. . .”  He trails off, shakes his head.  “You asshole.”  He says it affectionately, so it barely rankles as an insult.  He reaches across the gap between them, as if for another hug, but his hands grasp Jean’s face and bring it closer to his, holding him in place.

Jean feels his eyelids flutter shut, almost of their own volition, as Eren plants a firm, close-mouthed kiss against his lips.  He sighs into it, his face heating at the contact and savoring it for the moment that Eren’s forehead rests against his own.

“Jean,” Eren breathes against his face, “I l—“

“Don’t you fucking dare, Eren,” Jean interrupts, fiercely.  “I don’t want to hear it.”  He’s not ashamed of how his voice cracks on the last syllable; it’s too late for shame anyway.

For once, Eren doesn’t argue, but he shakes his head, and Jean feels the friction from the motion and whispers, “Now?”

He senses more than hears Eren inhale bracingly, and when he nods, he shifts back and slumps into his seat.

Jean immediately misses Eren’s warm hands on his cheeks, but he ignores the calm smile curling the other’s lips and his reddening eyes, ignores the continued shouts and sirens behind them, the propellers of a helicopter flying overhead, ignores everything but Eren’s muttered, “What a fucking waste of resources.  I’m just a murderer, and you’re just a car thief, damn.”

It draws a chuckle from Jean, that Eren would still think about waste and want at a time like this.  He wants to ask him if he regrets it, again, but he knows what the answer is, he knows Eren acts without regrets, at least for the most part.

Jean, on the other hand, knows what _he_ regrets.

He shifts the car into gear and eases his foot off of the brakes.  As the car slowly rolls forward, he hears Eren hissing curses under his breath, cursing Jean and himself, cursing the man he killed, cursing the police behind them. . .

“Mikasa is going to kill you,” he says out loud.

Jean actually laughs this time, rolling his eyes and grinning widely when Eren’s own boyish laughter fills the car.  He steps on the gas pedal, flooring it, and his back is plastered to the seat as the car lunges forward.  He lets go of the steering wheel right as he sees the front of the vehicle dip forward.

When he feels the effect of gravity in the pit of his stomach, Jean reaches across the divide until Eren rests his hand in his.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments/con-crit/kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> I hope you liked it!
> 
> (Maybe my next story will be in the canon-verse...)


End file.
